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and ghosts love company don’t they. You roll over on the bed till you’re face up but in the dark you can’t hardly tell the the difference between the wall and the ceiling. The shiny burgundy bedsheets that Maggie bought in Clery’s are all in disarray. You roll over. And you can hear the …

Burgundy, the word, intones a cold wet colour, the way mist clung to gravestones, the way we clung to daylight grim though it fell on things in that burgundy place and all those strange names coiling in and out of moss, french or english they mean bones nothing more, the name we gave young bones, …

Issue 13: Burgundy Burgundy is a brownish-red most associated with wine. Variations and other names of the colour include maroon, cherry, wine, plum and so on, all evoking a rich, luxurious colour. For a while, burgundy was the most popular colour for lipstick especially by people who identified with the goth culture. Burgundy has also been …

Flames lick the sky ravenously and ribbons of smoke entwine to inform the gods that ours is a city under siege. Begrudgingly attractive, our city is aware of its own shortcomings, built on the ability to embrace failure. Eyes sting and weep as I squint to witness the attempts of the rebels to release us …

They drank champagne until their shirts came off, She ripped open her shoe, Just to see what was actually inside a Jimmy Choo. Oh she laughed and laughed, they all laughed, Until one started to cry, She just rolled her eyes. Parental neglect, they were used to it by now, A thought of consoling, being …

During night hours dark as hell We prayed together in his cell A British soldier knocked on the cell door The time was up, death lay in store He tied Sean’s hands behind his back Tied a cloth over his eyes Pinned white paper over his heart Told to be ready for his demise Sean …

He lay on the road lifeless and estranged from this world, his short trousers stained with blood, his baggy blue jumper covering his wound, marbles scattered at his feet. Grey irises staring at the sky, his soul evaporated with the smoke and gunfire, he lay there, shrouded in the fumes of war, eking our from …

They’re reshooting the Rising up at Collins Barracks. White winnebagos line up, Volunteers form an orderly queue for the catering, Asgard safely moored behind cordons. They’ll get it in higher definition this time, take all the takes they need, apply the make-up to Pearse’s squint expertly, photoshop Dev in if the director requires. Extras lounge …

For fourteen years she stood beneath the balcony of his affection, watched his comings, his goings, listening in the dark for meaning in his footfall, in the sound of his key turning in the hall door. Until the night his pearl-smooth laugh came crackling over the balustrade, hard as hail on …

On Sunday 30 April 1916, the artist Kathleen Fox (1888-1963) happened upon a scene when she was out collecting a message for her family. She turned into St. Stephen’s Green and witnessed two figures, one of whom was a woman, dressed in green uniforms surrounded by an army of khaki-yellow soldiers. As she drew closer, …